


The King's tomb

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Romance, Slash Implied, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 18:38:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4070384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas stands at Aragorn's tomb.</p><p>Warning: slash implied</p>
            </blockquote>





	The King's tomb

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

It was true, even the weather mourned the passing of one so great. The very clouds wept and the wind howled its rage at the loss of the King. He may have lived long for a mortal but to the land his life was gone in the twinkling of a moment. And so it seemed to Legolas Greenleaf as he looked down on the tomb of his friend, his king and his love.

He ran his hand along the stone likeness of his tomb and tried to imagine warmth into it. Tried to imagine that this was truly Aragorn, alive and well accepting one last caress from a friend. The coldness was too vivid under his fingertips for him to deny the even colder truth.

He looked down at the finely graven features of this lost one. Oh but it was a noble likeness. Too noble for the friend who would laugh with him at Gimli’s tasteless jokes and join in with the foolery of the hobbits. For the one who would claim his lips and his body in a matchless passion hoping to remind himself of life and forget the beckoning of death if but for a while. Neither had he ever truly lost the look of a ranger tutored in the ways of the wild, those sharp cheekbones ever a reminder of less prosperous times.

Legolas’ mouth twisted in a bitter smile at the irony this image held for him. It seemed to mock him with its beauty and nobility. It was the image of the King Elesser as he would always be remembered. It was this very image that had taken the man away from him. For once Aragorn accepted his duty he accepted this also. He would be remembered for being a wise and noble King as was right. Not for being the King who ran off with a Prince of Elves shirking his duty and abandoning his wife.

Legolas could not bring himself to resent Aragorn his decision yet there would always be that part of him which would wish things had been different. He had not cared about Aragorn’s reputation or his own. What did it matter what people would think of them? Surely it is what they thought of each other that mattered?

NO! He would stay this bile threatening to creep up his throat.

He would not mar this day for any cheap relief now. The people of Minas Tirith deserved this image to be unmarred and pure. Estel would carry on bringing hope to the people when all that remained was a name and this image. An image of an uncorrupted King which he knew would sustain these people when the tyrants arose around them again. More, it would help to sustain the Lady Arwen. This was her image of him, he knew that, there in lies the bitterness too.

He unfroze from his reverie and moved away from the tomb.

He held his features in their accustomed places. He would not allow one tear to fall in front of these people, in this place. This may be the King's tomb but Aragorn's tomb was all around him. It was this city, these people which he gave his life for.

Each plant, rock and animal in this land would remember with the purity of the objective the real Aragorn. His Aragorn and only when he was out of this prison of stone and in the wilderness again would he truly mourn. Nought but the trees would hear his howls of pain and mark the passage of tears down the normally placid face.

So for now he held on to his self control with the iron fist of near madness. While the red hot grief pooled in his stomach and cried for release. He would act the Prince he was expected to and then ride off at a respectable time the next day. He would make his last and most acclaimed performance before setting off from this city for the last time. He would let the wind speak for him today as it curled itself around the towers in a raging fit, and shook the cobblestones in grief. But tomorrow, he would have his turn and even the wind will marvel at the twisted violence he would wreak, and the rain at his stinging bitterness only the sea would understand at the last. He would go to her for forgiveness and sail away with the one precious friend he had left.

The End


End file.
